Part 2

Checkers has a little cart and horse such as the Roman swells drive; he hunts in the Campagna, and everybody simply loves his American slang. When people remark how much we are alike, he retorts, “Sure! We’re twins, and she’s as close to me as my glove.”

But my adventure--well!. Yesterday I was out shopping alone when I noticed a man was following me at a distance. I hurried home, not daring to turn around, but he followed me all the way, and then proceeded to walk up and down outside my window in Italian fashion. I could only see the top of his silk hat, but I thought just for fun I would throw him a rose. Aunt caught me at it and she certainly was scandalized; hereafter I am never to go out alone.

Louisa, looking rather demure, came in this afternoon and announced the American Secretary. And who do you think came with him? The Russian Prince of the steamer. And that isn’t all, for it was he who followed me home! Now that he has been properly introduced, Aunt has forgiven him everything, and is all smiles. He talked to her most of the time, not to me, and she says he is very agreeable. I adore his broken English, but how is he going to smuggle letters to me, unless maybe Louisa will continue to help?

Auntie is perking up and taking notice. She is certainly getting frisky. Our good old Cart Horse, as she calls herself because she thinks she does all the work, has come out of mourning and invested in a lot of new, artistic clothes,--lovely colors, but floppy--that go rather well with her reddish hair. She’s making a specialty of artists, and of one artist in particular, a temperamental soul, dark and handsome with wild hair called Don Peppi, who is painting her portrait.

In the midst of a party last evening I was introduced to Captain Carlo somebody--I’ve forgotten the rest of his name--who at once began a desperate flirtation with me. Desperate indeed, for he’s a dashing young Italian officer who wears his beautiful uniform most smartly, and speaks good English and dances simply divinely. Checkers says he hunts on the Campagna, and being a reckless rider, cuts quite a figure there. I think he may be a close second to the Prince. When we were leaving, he got our things for us, and he, and the American Secretary, the Turkish Ambassador, “Pan,” they call him, and a Spanish diplomat, Marquis Gonzaga, managed between them to put us properly in our carriage. This is LIFE!

* * * * *

PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY

_Rome, February._

Cherished little Hummingbird,

I wish to know you better--you who throw me the red rose the color of your lips when I so wickedly follow you home. Your skin it resemble the pure white snow upon the steppes of Siberia, your hair the golden doubloons found in the depth of the Spanish Main, and your blue eyes the fairy sea on which we met. But when I draw near to catch you on that boat _Cleopatra_ (has her spirit entered your soul to haunt me?) I find you vanish through the fingers like a card in the hands of a magician.

I inquire of you in Rome--no one know about hummingbirds--I am in despair. Then the saints are kind. I see you on your terrace. I wait at your door. I send you a letter by your maid. You not reply and you not look at me when you pass by me in the street. I follow. But you vanish again into the door of that dark palazzo. I ask the concierge your name--he will not tell. Outside I wait, and the saints they are still kind. Down from Heaven falls the rose!

Next day I see the Secretaire Americain, my old friend as I remember at once. We meet on the street outside the palazzo--he say he goes in there to make call on lovely American young lady. I take him by the arm, I beg, I implore him to introduce me,--ah, I am so desperate! Perhaps he have pity on one who suffer so much. He take me in and--I have to talk to your Aunt. He speak all the time to you, and I have to see you together and talk only to the Aunt. Are you willing I should come again, Cleopatra girl? Post Scriptum. I come again anyway!

* * * * *

JOURNAL CONTINUED

_Rome, February._

The dashing Italian officer, Captain Carlo, with the piercing eyes and the Roman nose, gave a dinner last night at the Grand Hotel. He’s not exactly goodlooking but very attractive--almost as fascinating as the Prince whose letters certainly do amuse me. Later the carriage was to come to take me to the Duchess Sermoneta’s dance. Well! I made my adieux and started to leave the hotel.

But alas, my carriage was not there, and I was quite disturbed when up came the American Secretary and offered to take me in his brougham. I was very glad to accept. Do you know I think I am going to like him! He is dark and slender, clean-shaven and romantic-looking, and has very distinguished manners.

We got to joking and he remarked he was love-proof. I wasn’t going to be behind in a matter like that, so I replied promptly that I was, too. “We can be awfully good friends, then, you and I,” he said; “it’s perfectly safe.” I decided then and there that I would just see how safe it was, for him, at least. I call him A. D. for American Diplomat, he’s so very promising a young secretary.

At the ball there were princesses, duchesses, and all that. I met a lot of them but saw more of Captain Carlo and A. D. than anyone else. I stayed until about two o’clock, and then came the question as to how I was to get home without any carriage, but my diplomat again came to the rescue. Prince Boris was not there. Aunt says hereafter I am to take Louisa with me.

* * * * *

Roman society is well worth seeing, but I like country life better with hunting and races and things like that. I concluded I wouldn’t go to the next party, and told the Prince so flatly when he asked me for the cotillion, but Aunt felt badly about it. I gave in and went. The favors were lovely--I got fifteen--and A. D. was there. He has invited us to dinner at his apartment. When he declared he was love-proof, I wonder if he meant he was engaged. He is devoted to a clever American divorcée, I hear. I will go for a walk with Sybil and talk him all over. She’s a dear and my best friend; it’s good to have her here in Rome this spring.

After a little drive on the Pincio, we dressed for A. D.’s party. He has the loveliest rooms. The Dutch Secretary, “Jonkheer Jan,” Lord Ronald Charlton, a British Secretary, very pale and thin, and the Turkish Ambassador, the latter with a red fez on his head, and his hands covered with jewelled rings, all were there. Afterwards we drove on to a ball. The Prince appeared but I didn’t want to talk to him, so when the gay little Spanish Marquis dashed up, I danced off and spent the rest of the evening in the conservatory. He’s a dear, with flashing black eyes, and curly hair, but a little too fat.

We stayed till dawn, and the long, long flights of stone steps at our Palazzo seemed longer than ever at that hour. A. D. is coming to see me tomorrow, and I don’t know why, but I don’t want to see him, either.

* * * * *

Aunt and I dined one night at the Grand with a big, wild-eyed American from Pittsburg. He is rather excitable and erratic, but he cuts quite a swath here. It was a magnificent dinner with all the Roman swells, and I sat between Marquis Gonzaga and Captain Carlo and oh! what a funny time I had! Each tried to go the other one better, and the Marquis went a little too far. His broken Spanish-English allows him to say almost anything. When I am angry he pretends he doesn’t understand, so I pricked him with a pin in punishment and then he kissed me right there at table. I was so ashamed. These foreigners do the naughtiest things.

Captain Carlo is poor and Gonzaga is rich. The latter is a diplomat, a gambler and very quick-tempered, but most Spaniards are that. Carlo is an officer and a sportsman; he has some British blood. They are both delightful gay young devils. The Prince was there, too, and it was lots of fun to see him glower at the other men. He was very cross with Gonzaga and went home early. A. D. I saw only for a few moments; I like him even if he is calm and reserved beside the others. But he’s an American!

The dinner went on and on in numberless courses with plenty of wine. There were quantities of flowers with electric lights under them and not only was all Rome present, but they say people were there who didn’t even know their host by sight! Pittsburgo, as everybody calls him, who certainly does love big and costly festivities, had hired an orchestra. Then two other dinner parties joined his and we had a dance, the liveliest I ever went to, though it made me think of some jolly ones at home. We ran races and jumped chairs--a wild affair! I haven’t had such a good time for ages, even though A. D. and the Prince didn’t stay.

* * * * *

PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY

_Rome, February._

_Mon ange, je t’adore!_ Please not fish--no flirt, is it?--with others. You are the most extraordinary and nicest little flirt I never saw! Alas! but I suffer,--a sad inhabitant of this valley of tears, and because you fish not with me alone.

I am curious to know you better. You have not told me enough of your life. What you think is more interesting to me even than what you do, because the secret agitations of the heart are more revealing than the tumult of exterior life. I love to travel, but there is no strange country which I should so like to visit as this mysterious region which is your heart. I love novels, but there is no wonderful novel which I so much should like to read as the closed book which is your soul.

Do pity me who walk alone the desert of life. I want to take interest in every one of your thoughts and all of your sorrows. I should like to be Adam and give you all my ribs. I mind I have twenty-four, for making twenty-four girls, all just like you! And I would keep them all and not let them run in the world without me.

I had today one great excitement. The postman brought me a letter in a woman’s handwriting. It was blue, blue like the sky, and had the perfume of flowers. I felt at last had come the love letter from you I have been waiting for so long. My heart throbbed, my brain was on fire, but, alas! it was from another--not from a hummingbird, but a gray Miss Mouse.

I am very furious--my servants have never seen me so terrible.

* * * * *

JOURNAL CONTINUED

_Rome, February._

Pittsburgo came to call and stayed forever and ever AMEN. He talked most of the time about a beautiful Italian singer. Then A. D. and the Prince arrived and we had tea, and it made me feel like old times when I used to sit in the parlor at home and have beaux, knowing all the time that Auntie was behind the screen. Those were good old times, but they seem a long way off now. Finally Pittsburgo and A. D. went, and Aunt invited the Prince to stay to dinner. Afterwards Aunt was so tired she went off for a snooze. But if it had been the temperamental Peppi that stayed, I don’t think she would have been so sleepy; or maybe she wished to leave us alone.

Later we went to a charity bazaar at Baronessa Blanc’s, where there were flunkies in beautiful liveries at every landing, and flowers and tapestries. A. D. appeared upon the scene. He and I are getting to be quite good friends, though I know he is terribly devoted to the pretty divorcée with a Mona Lisa smile and a come-hither eye. Probably she is the person he is engaged to, if he really is engaged. He has me guessing.

The Prince is very cross with me. He makes me laugh, and tells me I would flirt even with a pair of tongs. The more I see him, the more mysterious he grows. He talks incessantly, and is as strange as the Oriental cane he carries. He is not officially attached to the Russian Embassy, at least, so A. D. says, and his best friends seem to be the Turks. When he is not speaking broken English he uses French, but that’s the diplomatic language everywhere.

The other night I started out with Louisa to a dinner at the French Embassy. She’s the prettiest, dark-eyed, olive-skinned contadina you ever saw, and while we were driving she chattered to me in the most knowing way about the King and Queen and court, of their family life, even telling me where the King has his washing done. She doesn’t know why, but--strange to say--it is all sent to Milan! It appears she knows intimately the Queen’s hairdresser. Louisa is trying to learn English and delights in showing off. Much to our amusement, she refers to Aunt as “he,” to Checkers as “she,” and to me as “it.”

Don Carlo, who has just recovered from the mumps, was at the affair. I danced afterwards with the extravagant Pittsburgo. A. D. was terribly devoted to Madame Mona Lisa, as we call her, and I don’t care if he was! I walked through the great bare galleries and tapestried rooms with the Princess Pallavicini and the Turkish Ambassador, who seemed to know about my flirtation with the Cossack Prince. Somehow I felt glad to escape and go on with Aunt to Mme. Leghait’s “impair” reception where the very gayest of Roman society gathers on evenings of odd dates.

* * * * *

_February 14._

St. Valentine’s Day! Just as I waked up, Louisa brought into my room a large basket of the loveliest flowers. Never have I received such beautiful ones or so many. With them was a note, “From your Valentine,” but Louisa recognized A. D.’s man, whom he calls his faithful Gilet, bringing them. It was very kind of him, of course, but I wish he would let me alone, and send his old flowers to the grass widow.

This afternoon Aunt and I hunted all over town for philopena presents. I had lost one to A. D. and she to Peppi. When we got home, in came Captain Carlo with his mother, who was oh, so beautiful. She went soon, long before I had enough of gazing at her, but he stayed till A. D. dropped in to rescue us.

After dinner Aunt and I put on black dominoes and masks, Checkers, Peppi, and A. D. made themselves perfectly killing in Pierrot costumes of black and white with white caps and fat-cheeked masks, and off went the five of us to the Veglione. We had a box in the theatre, but it was much more fun to go on the floor and dance. Whom should we see but Pittsburgo and with him his Italian singer. He hadn’t the remotest idea who we were. So I said all kinds of things to him, and got him all mixed up and it was the best fun! How we did laugh when I pushed him just a little and he tripped and rolled head first into the fountain. I simply loved the whole affair.

Once in a while Checkers and I go for a drive in his little two-wheeled cart with the absurd pony that looks like a broncho who has missed his growth, and when we get way out on the Campagna we burst into song:

“Pull off your walking coat, Comb back your hair, Cut loose your corset string, Take in some air; Put on your bonnet, love, Don’t act a fool; See that your harness fits Same as a mule.”

We almost feel we are at Black Horse Farm again at home. Between parties Sybil, Checkers, and I go sight-seeing, for Aunt says we must learn something besides deviltry.

“So you think I’m enjoying myself too much over here, Auntie,” my twin remarks. “Well, when I get home I’ll show you I’m not afraid of work,--I’ll lie right down beside it, see if I don’t. But while I’m here, I’m out for a good time.”

I’ve seen the Prince many times lately; he is most devoted. I love his letters, he interests but he frightens me a little. My feelings are so mixed I can’t write them down. When not with me, he spends much time with Peppi and Madame Mona Lisa. I often see them prowling about among the old paintings in the galleries.

* * * * *

PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY

_Rome, February._

Oh, Cleopatra child, present in my mind and heart is ever strange emotion I felt on meeting enigmatic girl, the first time and all times. But I have not progressed in detection of enigma, and it may be I shall die without solving it. The more I think, the dearer she becomes to me.

That night on the steamer the lady moon, how she danced on the fairy water! When talking to you in the cabin of the ship, I felt like a small boy, daring to do or say nothing. How stupid I have been that night, how little I profit my time while you bewitch me. I told so few things and I had so many to tell.

When you first appear in the doorway dressed like a rainbow in the sky you looked more like a fairy goddess than earth woman. Were you inhabitant of star? But what have you done in star for having fallen down amongst us humans? Or was it penance enough that you fell?

I feel strong emotion in my being. As I think of you, the music of Werther flows through my veins. All things of that first meeting rush round me. How the sea was sparkling, the sky silver, the air sweet!

* * * * *

JOURNAL CONTINUED

_Rome, February._

This morning I thought I never should wake up--it was twelve o’clock, but even then I felt tired. Yesterday was the last day of the carnival, the last ball for me. Marquis Gonzaga sent me the loveliest bunch of flowers, great orchids tied with a beautiful ribbon.

So much for the pleasant--now for the unpleasant. I got an anonymous letter about Captain Carlo from an Italian girl who is in love with him, saying she will kill me if I do not leave him alone. I can’t imagine who she can be--I’ll try to do some detective work, be a Sherlock Holmes, and find out. I think it would be fun and I’m sure I’d be good at it. Living in Rome is like being in a play, it doesn’t seem real at all.

But the climax came when another epistle arrived, this time a catty note from the Mona Lisa divorcée saying she was soon to leave Rome and A. D. to me, and she hoped “little Pagan Polly would enjoy herself.” Checkers and I went off for a long drive through the Campagna. It was good to get out into the country, away from all trouble. I wonder what on earth will happen next?

What did happen was that the divorcée followed up her note by a call. Louisa announced her just as I returned, and I heard Checkers greeting her in the next room--“Good afternoon! Glad of your hand. Hope you feel as good as new money.”

She laughed a little, but for all that, he hadn’t put her in a pleasant frame of mind. When I went in to see her, I looked a little surprised and asked her what I could do for her.

“You can let my friend alone,” she said.

“I do not know whom you mean,” I retorted.

“Oh yes you do! You can’t play innocence with me with your big blue eyes and your nursery airs.”

That made me angry and I told her to be civil to me or she might be ushered out. She fired up then, though she had tried to keep hold of herself at first, and pointed to A. D.’s picture, asking sarcastically if he had given it to me, and if she was to congratulate me on my conquest. I saw she was afraid I was really engaged to him and was trying to find out and I determined she should not.

So I hung my head and pretended to be dreadfully shy, and murmured she might congratulate me if she wished to. Then I was sorry, for she turned very white and then red.

“I don’t believe a word of it!” she choked, “and this is all the congratulation you’ll get out of me!” She snatched his photograph off the table and threw it into the fireplace, and as I did not know what else to do, I rang for Louisa to show her the door, but before the maid could come, Mona Lisa swept out, muttering to herself, “I’ll get even with you yet.” That is the last glimpse I shall get of her, I hope.

I went and told Aunt. The American Ambassador came to call in the late afternoon and they were both closeted for about an hour. When I asked her what they talked about, she said about A. D. and Mona, but she wouldn’t tell me anything else. But I know that divorcée is trying to make some mischief. Well, she may if she wants to. I don’t care. If A. D. likes that kind of woman, he may have her.

Pittsburgo and Captain Carlo came for luncheon, and then later in came the Prince for tea. Aunt insists on leaving us together every chance she gets. But he is a trifle too impassioned, even for me. When he left today, he said, “Why is it you are unkind? You say me not sweet things, I who would kiss your feet. Naughty one, you are cold as March to me when I want you to be like the month of May.” And that’s the way he’s always going on.

After Marquis Gonzaga’s dinner, the other evening, I left while the others were still dancing. Carlo was watching mournfully from the balcony above and ran down to put me in my carriage, but round-eyed Pittsburgo caught up with him, much to his disgust, so he did not have the farewells to himself, and Louisa and I set off for home.

But when we reached the Palazzo, what do you suppose? There was Carlo to open the door! He had gotten into another carriage and raced ahead of us. He begged for the violets that I was wearing. I wouldn’t give them then, but when I reached the upper landing, just out of deviltry, I threw them out of the window to him. It’s a funny game, but this isn’t the first time I’ve played it, nor the first time he has either, for that matter. I wonder if I’ll get knifed by his Italian girl. I’ll risk it, for it’s all such fun.

The dinner had been awfully uninteresting, and I had to have a little bit of amusement. A. D. was to sit on one side of me but he never came. I suppose he was with Mona Lisa. Also I spilt coffee over my new dress and got rather cross. I didn’t sleep a wink all night.

* * * * *

In the meanwhile I hadn’t forgotten about the anonymous letter warning me to let Carlo alone, so one afternoon I showed the note to Boris who was here calling and suggested that we do a little detective work together. His eyes glittered and I told him he could be Doctor Watson, but I should be Sherlock. As we sallied forth for a walk to talk it over, we saw a pretty contadina sauntering up and down the street outside the palazzo, and just on impulse, I said, “What do you make of that, Watson?” She happened to glance up, and if ever there was a look of hatred on a human face, she had it.

“I have seen her before,” remarked my companion.

“You have?” I gasped.

“Dining in a little trattoria with--”

“Anyone I know?”

Boris nodded and I guessed at once that he meant Carlo but preferred not to say so definitely.

So I took the hint and kept a careful lookout for a few days, and sure enough, there she was, hanging about or strolling past every time that Carlo came to visit me. Once the captain who had just been calling on me, stopped and spoke to her; he appeared to be angry. So I took the Prince, who had dropped in, and we shadowed them home, quite delighted with ourselves and our adventure, until they separated, he striding away surlily and she looking after him until he turned the corner. Then she went into a tumbled-down house.

“Signor, who lives there?” I asked of a neighbor lounging on his steps.

“The gardener of Capitano Carlo,” he told me politely. So there was all my evidence, and the next time we met I told my Italian Captain about the letter and that I had discovered the author of it. He admitted that I was probably right, and that it sounded like his gardener’s daughter.

She was jealous of me, evidently, but he didn’t seem at all put out about it,--in fact I think it rather tickled his vanity. People say the poor girl is half mad about him.

Carlo is now in an army prison for having been seen at the Marquis’ dance when he was supposed to be on the sick list. He writes me he will go to South Africa if I won’t be good to him.